


Fade Out Tonight

by Lidsworth



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Death, Mentions of Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, no explicit content, platonic makorra though, well it's open for interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9109096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: Mako once told Korra that he did anything he could to ensure he and Bolin’s safety growing up. He didn’t tell her everything though. Not until now, that is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: Makkorra if you squint, but only in the platonic sense. More supportive friends. Quick drabble kinda. I didn’t read a ton of this aloud, so there may be mistakes that I didn’t catch.   
> Warnings: mentions of child prostitution, rape
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](https://frozen-twins.tumblr.com/)

Seldom is Korra ever completely able to shed the “Avatar” persona and grace her friends with her presence. And it is an even _rarer_ occasion that the Avatar is granted free time with the others (she never gets _anyone_ on the same day. Even Bolin and Mako together are impossible). 

Today she gets Mako, and for that Korra is eternally grateful. Whatever tension tore them apart in the past she is quick to forget, and greets him with a bone crushing hug the moment they lay eyes on one another.  The case files in his fingers slip to the ground as he is suspended into the air, and in between her “I missed you Mako” he forces a breathless: “I missed you too, Korra.”

The private detective rubs gentle circles (well gentle for a second or two, later they turn into desperate pats) in the small of her back—firstly because he really _did_ miss her, but secondly because he needs to breath.

When his face flushes red to blue, Korra lets him fall back into his seat.  

She’s apologizing profusely, jumbling words and phrases together, ‘it’s been a year since I’ve seen you’ and ‘I tend to forget my own strength sometimes’, and Mako says nothing, only watches while she drags a nervous hand through her hair, then smiles half way as he deflates slightly in the leather desk chair, ears buzzing out Korra’s enthusiasm and eyes rolling lazy to the papers scattered on the ground (and Mako feels _awful_ for ignoring her. But his mind is sour and sick with the burdens of his day, and to be fair, she came earlier than she should have.

She seems to notice.

“Hey Mako? What’s up? You’re not yourself,” she observes, and when he is silent for longer than she deems necessary, lets her wondering gaze follow his to the ground where the mess of parchment lay.

They are reaching for the case files at once, and thanks to faster reflexes, the bulk is in Korra’s hands while Mako grasps the air. With a triumphant smirk, she rises.

Reading comes automatically to her, she doesn’t even register Mako’s irritated: “Those are classified, Korra.” And fully known to Mako, his half-attempted protest mean little to her. Korra has crashed council meetings in the past.

For her, skimming over Mako’s reports are child’s play.

But then it isn’t.

Silence settles amongst the two, thicker than the growing tension drizzling like soft rain into the room.

Korra’s eyes go back and forth atop of the paper, brows knitted in disbelief, breath heavy and thick.

He can tell quiet obviously when her gaze lingers on top of a certain word or phrase, and for the life of him Mako cannot deduce whether or not she has stopped on “evidence of forced entries’ or ‘victims are all under seventeen years of age’ and finally ‘corpses found piled…’

She looks like she could vomit (and Mako wonders if he should drag the small trash can from underneath his desk) —gulps dryly while placing the thick packet back onto the smooth surface of his desk. Mako doesn’t miss the small tremble of her fingers, though she tried (and fails) to hide it.

“Okay…I understand why you’re acting so strange.”

“Yeah,” Mako breaths, like he’s exhausted, voice straining as he throws his head back and runs his hands through hair.

“There’s a chair if you need it,” he takes into account that she—despite being the Avatar—has never seen evil such as the likes of this. She’s seen physical assault, has had her body plummeted through mountains and flat into oceans, even dealt with her fair share of mental trauma.

But rape—that’s an evil Korra will never know. And Mako is quite thankful for that, because he’s lived it.

She looks overwhelmed, guilty almost. So she takes the seat offered.

The silence does not leave them, and though a snide “I told you not to read it” hangs on the tip of Mako’s tongue, his lips remained sealed. He’s had the pleasure of desensitizing himself to such horrors, in a morbid, _sardonic_ kind of way.

Korra has not.

And why would she. There is nothing _normal_ about _normalizing_ what happened to him, what happened to those _kids_ whose names blacken the pages like a thick, ugly cloud of ash. He only imagines what they went through—both the survivors and the dead. And he does his best to _imagine,_ because anything else would be reliving what he went through (he tells himself, though, as his memory breaches his walls, that it was _all_ for Bolin).

And suddenly Mako realizes that his chest is aching again, and there’s a heaviness sitting atop of his gut. Uncomfortably, he crosses one leg over the other and straightens his posture, then when he can find no comfortable position, he squirms.

It gains Korra’s attention, and Mako is speaking before he can stop himself.

“That could have been me.”

Now Korra is the uncomfortable one, but no less attentive. So she turns towards him then leans forward.

“What?” She repeats, in disbelief (in the sense that she does not _want_ Mako to mean what he’s saying).

So he repeats it, clearly this time.

“I said that could have been me, Korra.”

There’s a pause, in which Mako chews the inside of his lip and taps his foot on the ground. For a moment or two, he looks a way, unable to meet her gaze. There’s shame in his memories, shame he hates recalling.

Then Korra speaks.

“What do you mean it could have been you. You mean…you were a prostitute?” She answers her own question, already knowing the answer before she speaks. But she hangs on to the small chance that what she thinks to be true isn’t so.   

“When I told you I did anything so we could survive, so that _Bolin_ could survive, I meant anything Korra.”

Korra releases a shuddered breath and nods.

“Okay, so that’s what’s been bothering you.” Korra concludes, then asks: “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He lets his head fall in his hands. The prospect of _speaking_ to her, to _anyone_ about what happened to him seems refreshing, but for some dumb reason, he’s still scared. Terrified.

Yet he speaks, submissive and uncertain, he speaks.

“No—Yes—I guess, ugh. I’ve never told anyone.”

At this Korra freezes, eyes widening at the sudden revelation.

“Not even Bolin?”

Mako shuffles erratically, “Of course, not Bolin, he’s the last person I’d tell. He’d probably blame himself.”

“Why? Did Bolin get you into trouble?”

“No. _No._ Bolin didn’t do anything wrong,” Mako stresses that, glares at her and makes _certain_ that Korra understands that, “It was me—my fault.”

“Calm down, I’m not pointing fingers at anyone or anything, I just want to help,” she throws her hands up in mock surrender, smiling humorously.

“Sorry,” Mako apologizes sheepishly, face darkening just slightly.

She said nothing, only gave him a gentle look which urges him to continue.                          

And with a sigh, he does.

“Bolin got really sick one day, and I didn’t have enough money to take him to the doctor. So I did a couple of small jobs, most of them illegal,” Korra doesn’t miss the reminiscent smirk, and would have joined in had the situation been different. 

“One job involved transporting some goods. It was stupid, I know. And for the most part I stayed away from dumb shit like that, but Bolin was sick and I was desperate. Anyway, we transported the stash to the dealer,” Mako pauses at this, cautious with his next word, “I didn’t even know he was looking at me.”

The implications of the last phrase disgust her.

“He must have known I was looking for cash, I had my business pretty much everywhere around the underworld. He said he’d offer me a job if I stopped by later, offer me more than what I got for the original job. And the young, naïve 14-year-old that I was said yes.”

Korra places a hand on Mako’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly but gently. “If you don’t want to continue, it’s cool. It’s amazing you got this far!”

He looks as if he should stop, opens and closes his mouth once or twice before slowly pressing his lips together in a thin line. For a second or two, Korra believes that he’ll change the subject. She won’t blame him if he does.

But he doesn’t.

“When I came by that night, well you know what happened…We had sex, he gave me money but..” he stops, looks at his feet, and takes a sudden interest in the office floor, “I just should have fought harder I suppose. Like I said, at least he paid.”  

Korra jerks, her movements startling Mako.  

“Fought harder? What do you mean? I thought you said this was prostitution, Mako. You knew what you were doing when you went there right? _Right?_ ” Voice rising slightly, and eyes bulging in desperation, Korra stretches her voice, tilting her head slowly to follow Mako’s unsure gaze.

Until finally he looks away.

Korra is disgusted.

“Then it sounds more like…”

“Rape? Yeah I guess,” Mako offers halfheartedly, defeated, “I didn’t know that’s what he wanted, and when he cornered me I froze. I didn’t say no, but I didn’t say yes either, and like I said, I got my money and I took Bolin to the hospital. Things turned out okay and I was so good he recommended me to his friends.”

“Mako, that’s awful.”  The words offered are far too little to convey what exactly she feels, to express the appropriate amount of sympathy towards her friend. Distress etches itself into the crevices above her brows, eyes dampening, falling.

Sensing what is to come, Mako quickly makes to ease her worries.

“I cut ties with them a few years ago, before the Fire Ferrets, managed to give them what they wanted one last time and thankfully none of them have bothered me sense. And now, I don’t think they will. Not unless they want to get arrested for human trafficking.”

“So…they can’t get to you, not anymore?” Her voice is silent now, barely above a whisper, almost afraid of his answer.

“I’m safe now Korra. And if they come back—”

“If they come back, they’ll have the Avatar to deal with,” she cuts him off, smacking her fist into her palm, smiling. It never reaches her eyes though and her gaze holds an uncertainty about it.

There is little reassurance.

Mako offers the same, halfhearted smile.

For a while, neither speaks. Korra’s hand falls from his shoulder and into her lap, and Mako looks away still, wrapping his arms around himself just slightly.

\--  
 _It's too cold outside_  
 _For angels to fly_  
 _An angel will die_  
 _Covered in white_  
 _Closed eye_  
 _And hoping for a better life_  
 _This time, we'll fade out tonight_  
 _Straight down the line_

**Author's Note:**

> Done. That took longer than it was supposed to. As I said, this will be the first in a series of “prostitute and/or rundown Mako AUs” because I just love the trope and have so far seen absolutely nothing having to do with it. But then again, I don’t read too much.   
> Perhaps I’ll write a fic where I get more into what exactly happened to Mako, but for now, I’ll keep it at this.   
> Title taken from Ed Sheeran’s A-Team


End file.
